


patterns

by softshelltaako



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Heist AU, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, References to Depression, can you tell im very fond of this au, hes just a sad dude, jonathan combs kinnie hours like if u up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:53:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29594445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softshelltaako/pseuds/softshelltaako
Summary: Jon uses his downtime to do some thinking on the rooftop.set in the same universe as my sockathan heist au but you don't need to read the previous work to get this one
Relationships: Jonathan Combs/Napoleon Maxwell Sowachowski | Sock
Kudos: 3





	patterns

**Author's Note:**

> another crosspost from my wattpad while i get my writing brain chuggin again!! as always, open to any reqs and thanks for reading<3

_Click._  
_Click._  
_Click._

The repetitive metallic sound of the switchblade, popping out of its casing with the press of Jon's thumb and sliding back in under the guidance of his pointer finger. It was an idle motion, therapeutic in its simplicity, something to keep his hands occupied while his mind wandered elsewhere. Cool night air caressed his face as the occasional soft breeze blew through, ruffling his hair. God, he needed a shower, but he wasn't ready to go back inside just yet.

It'd been a slow day - at least for him - just making preparations and taking inventory, peppered with a glance into Sock's den every now and then to watch him shuffle through papers and drum at the keyboard of his laptop with practiced precision. The brain was hard at work as always, stacking up the next few jobs in perfect order, just the way he liked. Sometimes he'd get a smile or a wave, even a paper airplane tossed into the combination-kitchen-and-weapons-stockpile where Jon conducted most of his own work, but not today. Sock was locked up in his head, and Jon was left to count the same stacks of rounds over and over and over. It was that or confront the nagging in his brain that rose up whenever he wasn't otherwise occupied.

Of course, he could only dodge that for so long, which brought him to his current post: the ledge lining the rooftop of their apartment building, legs dangling in the emptiness beyond the edge and switchblade flipping out its steel song. The quiet made it easy to give in to the thoughts, letting them wash over him rather than making any effort to analyze them. Jon would repeat this routine some nights, when they had no obligations and Sock was preoccupied. He'd trudge up the steps, sling his legs over the edge, let the thrill of adrenaline and apprehension settle at the initial thought of just how easily he could tumble down, and then whip out the blade and let his mind get to buzzing. It was a stretch of passive but deafening sound in his ears, head nearly pounding with the chaos, and then he'd dust himself off and slink back inside.

For now, though, he had dangling and flipping and thinking to do. Absently, on an outward flick, he paused to examine the blade. It caught and reflected the glow of the roof's floodlight, a piercing beam that almost made him squint. Simultaneously thoughtful and thoughtless, Jon turned the blade over a few times before pressing the dull side against his leg. It was cool against his skin through a rip in his tattered jeans. He let it drag a few centimeters, feeling a light tug as the tip of the blade threatened to break through. Jon watched, unblinking and seemingly unbothered, face just as blank as it had been since he started up the steps.

The heavy scrape of the industrial door behind him made him jump, flicking the blade shut on instinct. His head still buzzed but he could hear footsteps on the concrete. They echoed like stones falling into water, rippling out through the rest of his body in trembling waves. His fingers scratched at the edge of the ledge as a pair of arms draped gently around his shoulders and soft hair grazed his cheek. The gentle nudge of a nose was tailed closely by warm lips on his cheek. Jon reached a hand back to card through the nest of hair looming over his shoulder.

"Done for the night?" His own voice sounded foreign to his ears.

"Mm. Maybe." This voice was smoother, playful, and distinctly tired, not to mention undoubtedly familiar. The buzzing grew quieter as Sock came into view, climbing up onto the ledge at Jon's side. Jon watched silently as the boy surveyed the dark street below, Sock's usual curiosity playing over his features. It took only a few moments to satisfy him - of what Jon isn't sure. The shorter boy sank to his knees so he could sling a leg over Jon's hips, situating himself comfortably in his lap. "Comfortably" might be a stretch, as he was now basically hanging off the edge of the building with Jon as his only means of support.

Even through the shrinking cacophony in his head Jon registered this, fisting his hands in the back of the baggy hoodie Sock was wearing - one of Jon's own, he noted, and it looked good on him. "You're gonna kill yourself," he scolded, trying to tug the boy close to his own chest. Sock laughed lightheartedly and placed a kiss on the blonde's forehead.

"You're worried! How sweet. But you're my brawn. It's your job to keep me safe." With that, mischief crossed his face. Sock leaned away and Jon gripped the shirt even tighter, watching as the boy laid back until practically parallel with the street below. He tossed his head back along with his arms, spread eagle-ing over the side of the building with only Jon's white-knuckled grip keeping him grounded.

"Stop playing around like that!" Jon huffed through gritted teeth, giving the shirt a tug in an attempt to jostle Sock upright. The planner's gleeful laugh rang out again, remaining upside down for one moment longer before curling his body inwards to sit up in Jon's lap once more. The blonde's arms instantly locked around his waist, furrowed brow and narrowed eyes contrasting Sock's own flushed and pleased expression. Sock cradled his boyfriend's windburned cheeks in his hands and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, one which allowed Jon to feel Sock's smile. His lips were warm and smooth and Jon became aware of the fact that the cold breeze had likely chapped his own.

Sock didn't seem to mind, letting a giggle break the kiss as he looped his arms around Jon's neck and buried his face under the boy's jaw. "I know you wouldn't let me fall, doofus."

"Yeah?" Jon nuzzled against wild brown hair despite his complaints. "And what if I did?"

"You won't."

Sock punctuated this with another gentle peck against Jonathan's jaw. Jon realized that, regardless of his frustration, the beehive in his head had gone silent.

Sock tends to have that effect, he'd noticed.

Rather than thinking further on that and risking a rustling of the hive, he let his cheek settle into Sock's hair as he hugged the smaller figure tighter against himself and breathed in deeply. The crisp smell reflected that of the autumn night time, scents of dirt and smoke from the city below, but laced with something else now. Warm and clean, like the linens in the bed they sometimes share on the nights that Lil and Jojo take the couch and the blanket on that same couch when they slot their bodies on it like tetris pieces, Jon on the outside and Sock tucked close to his chest. He shut his eyes, Sock's quiet hum reverberating through him in the same waves from before.

The brunette pulled back enough to run fingers through Jon's hair. He combed it away from the blonde's face and examined him quietly, using the same scrutiny with which he pores over his notes plus an added layer of tenderness. Jon hesitated to call it love even though he felt the iron grip Sock possessed on his heart in the look alone. "You okay?" It's gentle, seeking honesty over placation.

Jon nodded and tipped his head into the touch when Sock rested a hand on his cheek. Turning his head let his eyes land on the closed switchblade again. Sock followed his gaze, silently slipping the small heap of metal into his own sweatshirt pocket. Jon didn't try to stop him.

With the blade out of sight, Sock peppered another set of kisses over Jon's reddened skin; each cheek, his forehead, the tip of his nose, finishing with his lips. It's a pattern as familiar to him as the way Sock makes his coffee (lots of milk and sugar, stir until light) or the order in which he puts away laundry (pants, shirts, underwear, then socks). They each have their rhythm. He crowded the boy impossibly closer, something in his chest squeezing tight as he looked up at Sock.

The brunette's hands lingered over Jon's forearms before he slipped lightly out of his grip, climbing carefully to his feet back on the safety of the rooftop. He wrapped slender fingers in a loop around Jon's wrist and gently tugged. "Come on, it's cold. Let's get some rest." Exhaustion previously kept at bay by the humming in his brain came flooding back and Jon obeyed, trailing after his little genius. He watched him fondly as Sock's typical energy seemed to flood back with the warmth of the indoors, bouncing down the steps and tossing ocassional backwards smiles up to Jon. Something warm settled in Jon's own stomach, though he imagined the source more likely the light radiating off of Sock than the building's temperature.

He helped Sock move the piles of paper aside, set the couch up with pillows and a blanket, and settled in for a movie with the comforting weight of another against his side. Through it all, somehow, his brain stayed silent. He cast a glance down to Sock's face which had already gone slack, asleep before the opening credits finished. He brushed a tender knuckle over the boy's cheek, careful not to disturb him. His chest twanged in a familiar way as he pressed light lips to Sock's forehead. Even Jon's murmur was practically a whisper, but it floated up on the nest of warmth Sock had kindled in his stomach.

"Thank you."


End file.
